Sacre Coeur
by J. Peterson
Summary: I'd opened my eyes in a hospital bed in Kagoshima after almost three years in a coma, or so the staff told me amidst wide eyes, shocked voices and questions I didn't always have answers to.


**Disclaimers:**  
_Revolutionary Girl Utena_ is © to Be-Papas, near as I can tell. _Mai HiME_, meanwhile, belongs to Sunrise. No profit made, no infringement intended.

**Author's notes:**  
As is sadly rather par for the course, I once again dive headfirst into writing without really having watched the series. Ah, well. Better to practice in advance, hm?

_Sacre Coeur _(aside from obviously being a Parisian basilica) is a song by Tina Dico.

Enjoy.

**Sacre Coeur**

* * *

"_Why the Princess Bride?"_

"_Sometimes, the only thing you can take from a sad story is the ability to poke a little fun at it."_

xXxXx

It was almost strange to find somewhere to belong, after what felt like a lifetime of being rootless. I knew my name, and by that what I figured might at least help find a clue to my past. I wasn't sure how old I was, and since there was no record of me to be found anywhere, people could provide me with little more than an educated guess upon my awakening, where they'd estimated me to be 17 years old.

I'd opened my eyes in a hospital bed in Kagoshima after almost three years in a coma, or so the staff told me amidst wide eyes, shocked voices and questions I didn't always have answers to.

_What happened to you?_

_I d-duh-don't... n-know._

_Where were you before you were injured?_

… _Tuh-tokyo?_

_What is your name?_

_T-tenjuh-jou U-teh-tena._

Things grew a little clearer as time passed and my doses of medication grew smaller and fewer. I started being able to call up a few clear faces, a lot of blurry ones, and a distinct lack of names.

I was released from the hospital after months of physical and speech-therapy, and told that my bills had been paid for in full. I was also handed an envelope with a yellow F encased in a red rectangle on its back; it held a hand-written letter, a few papers explaining the details of the Kazehana scholarship, a print-out of a bank balance, and a train ticket.

Well, why not? It wasn't like I had anything better to do.

xXxXx

"_Why are you offering this to me?" I asked of the woman – girl? - in the wheelchair, while a tall, slender woman in a maid outfit poured tea for us both._

"_Sometimes," she replied, "we offer the scholarships to those who need financial aid. Sometimes we offer it to those who will shine here."_

_I sipped my tea, and wondered why the color of her hair seemed wrong and why something about the look in her eyes was familiar. "Which one am I?"_

"_Not the first," Kazehana Mashiro told me with a small smile. "Perhaps the second. Mostly, I think you're part of the third."_

"_Which is?"_

"_Those who deserve peace."_

xXxXx

Fuuka Academy was peaceful, alright. Beautiful, open campus with lots of grass and trees, modern dormitories, professional teachers, several extracurricular activities and even its own, quaint little church. I was assigned a single room, and with the bank account I'd been given access to – the Director said it was an inheritance, though she couldn't tell me from whom – I soon had my hands on the necessities and a few more trivial things.

Still, it felt... off. Like it didn't really fit; or like _I _didn't. For some reason, I kept wanting to lift my feet as if to climb stairs that weren't there, and the grounds themselves seemed too wide; the sky too close. I tried to make it my home, though; did my best to become part of this little slice of Japan, and in some ways, I managed. My grades were above reproach, and I became captain of the kendo club after only a year, since I seemed to have an affinity for the sport. I also found myself feeling far more at home in the boys' uniform, and since the Director refused to countermand my choice of dress, eventually people stopped bothering me about it and started finding it intriguing, instead.

"_Utena-senpai looks so princely!"_

Princely. Prince. Why did that mean something?

Somewhere, I had a feeling that making friends should be easy. It wasn't, though. Oh, I could be friendly enough; I wasn't in any way antisocial, and I doubted that I ever had been, but still, something kept me from forming any true bonds with any of my class- or clubmates. Their voices were off, or something about their features were wrong, and eventually, I accepted that I could have several acquaintances – even fans - but that I for whatever reason couldn't build friendships at this point in time.

Something held me back, and much as I tried, I could no more identify what that something was than I could decide what it was about this place that made me twitch at times. I just knew in some bone-deep, instinctual way that beneath the pleasant surface, something was building that made my brain itch. It was familiar, but not. For me, but not; as if it was striking a chord in me, but really plucking the strings of someone else.

The Director knew – I was certain of it. She knew, but didn't say, and I stopped trying to find answers before too long, because speaking to her always hurt. Kazehana Mashiro was the type who knew much and said little, and I couldn't pinpoint why that was so familiar, or why it made my heart ache.

I got the same almost wistful ache when I visited the academy's greenhouses or gardens; doubly so when it was summer and the roses were in bloom. And I couldn't figure out why.

Tokyo might have held answers for me, since it was – near as I knew - where I had been. I wanted to visit, but whenever I tried to set things in motion, again, something stopped me. My ticket reservations were lost, or the trains were canceled, or the flight was grounded due to equipment failure.

I didn't understand it, but eventually, I had to accept it. For whatever reason, I was being kept away from Tokyo, and that was that. Instead, I stayed where I was, and focused on what I _could_ do. I lead my kendo team to win more often than not, I spent a _lot_ of time giving myself a headache trying to remember, and eventually graduated high school at the ripe old age of 20; having completed it in two years rather than three.

The captaincy, a few weeks before my graduation, was given to a would-be second-year by the name of Masashi Takeda, and I hope it didn't show how much that transfer upset me. Not because he was a bad choice – he was skilled beyond belief, in fact – but because something about the color of his hair had always left me shaking. Even if I knew somehow that it was the wrong shade.

I had to find out what was missing; or try to, at least. So even though the Director told me that my scholarship extended to studies at the nearby university, I put it on hold for the time being. She accepted that without argument, with that usual, painfully familiar air of hers, and wished me a safe journey.

I spent my time traveling. Tokyo remained out of my reach somehow, but as God is my witness, I tried from every other angle. Sapporo, Hiroshima, Fukokua, Osaka, Kobe, Nagoya... closest I ever managed to get physically was Yokohama. I tried driving to Tokyo from there, but my car broke down when I was ten miles from its borders. Taxis refused me, trains were stuffed full, and all other rental places booked solid. The first fourteen years of my life were locked away in my memory, and the one place that might hold some answers was kept gently, but firmly away from me.

To say that I was frustrated would be an understatement. Especially when other things about the places I visited resonated so strongly that it felt as if the key to everything was hovering right in front of my fingers. Every time I swung a bokken, or smelled a blooming rose, or heard the ringing of bells, it was _right there_. I grasped for it more and more desperately as time went by, but never managed to close my hand around it.

Sometimes, an Osaka hypnotist told me after fruitless session, memories will not unlock no matter how much you try. Your brain refuses to allow it if it isn't ready to face the pain those memories hold.

Still, in my travels, I found a purpose that didn't just include living. Somehow, I kept coming across bad situations; muggings, assaults... I sensed them somehow, with an almost metallic clang in the back of my head, and always, unerringly found them and stopped them. Helped people. The city newspapers started printing stuff about the _Prince of the Streets_, though how anyone managed to confuse me for a man, I'll never know. Granted, I still preferred that style of dressing more often than not, but even a cursory look should reveal to anyone that I'm very much female.

I, and along with me, the Prince, continued to travel Japan. Weeks, then months, then years spent on a search that was ultimately fruitless in terms of what I'd hoped to accomplish, but at least left the streets just a little bit safer.

At 22 I gave up and returned to Fuuka, only to find a place very different than the one I'd left. The massive forest outside the town limits had a wide swath of trees cut down in a long, charred line, one of the high school buildings was under severe reconstruction and the church practically destroyed, the bridge from the mainland was decimated, and Kazehana Mashiro was gone. Himeno Fumi, who was Kazehana's successor and former all-around helper, was clearly cut from the same cloth. I got as much out of her as I did her predecessor, which is to say: absolutely nothing. She did, however, do everything in her power to get me into Fuuka University as recompense, and so my life returned to consisting of school, and dorms, and clubs.

Well, mostly. The Prince was still part of me, after all, and the swords - because I'd taken to calling them that – still clashed noisily in the back of my head when something was wrong nearby. I also realized one day that the feeling I'd gotten during my high school years, the distinct sensation of something rotten hiding beneath the surface, was gone. Completely.

In the summer holiday of my second year, a very late walk home on an early morning took me past a low, heavily-windowed building that was clearly undergoing a good deal of work. Glass was being polished, accents painted, stone pathways and areas were being pressure-cleaned; all under the apparently competent direction of a woman who surely couldn't be a day over 18. I was content to ignore the proceedings with no more than a cursory glance, and did just that until the name of the place was revealed after a large, green and white sign was unpacked. Both the colors and the words hit me so hard that my breath left me in a whoosh of air.

_Bride_, said the sign's rightmost side, which leaned against a heavy, ceramic pot of red roses.

Roses. Brides.

Again, it was _right there_, but this time, the flicker of almost-memory brought with it a sharp stab that was both love and anger and pain. The scar on my stomach stung, and I could almost... almost see a face if I screwed my eyes shut. It bordered on the deliciously ironic; I'd spent two years scouring the country for a clue - more than that roaming the internet until my eyes stung - and the closest I'd come to an answer was right here in Fuuka.

I couldn't let that go.

"Hey," I greeted as I crossed the street, and caught the eye of the young woman who was presumably the proprietor of the place. "You're the owner?"

"Good morning!" She turned to me with a smile. "I am! Well, halfway for now," she then admitted. "I have to pay off the loan first."

Loan. I studied her from the corner of my eye as we both watched the sign being raised and put into place. She looked like she was barely out of high school; face distinctly free of lines and bright, fiery hair falling into violet eyes – how did she get a loan large enough to open a business?

Always questions; rarely answers. But I supposed it wasn't my concern, anyway.

"Why the Princess Bride?" I asked her over the sound of whirring.

She looked startled at the question, and then gave me a sunny grin that had the faintest hint of something else – something painful - around its edges. "Sometimes," she told me. "The only thing you can take from a sad story is the ability to poke a little fun at it."

Clear as mud, but still, it rang true somehow.

"You look tired, ojou-san," she then spoke up, and when she cocked her head and shaded her own face from the morning sunlight, the color of her eyes deepened to a shade that made my breath catch in my throat. "Can I offer you some tea? Breakfast?" She gestured towards the double doors, and the halfway furnished, abandoned interior. "I only have the most basic of supplies, but since you'll be my first customer, it's on the house."

"Sure." I shook myself out of my stupor, and followed her inside. "Thank you."

xXxXx

Tokiha Mai – because that was her name – became my first real friend since I woke up in that hospital bed six years ago. In spite of the five-year age difference, we got along splendidly. Much like I tended to be, she was determinedly optimistic, and always found a genuine smile for the next person to walk into her cafe. She was, I learned, a recent graduate from Fuuka Academy, and had entered the University's culinary and business programs in the preceding spring. During the summer, she planned on working full-time to get the Princess Bride up and running, and would then hire more staff for the daytime hours when she returned to school herself.

She was young – almost painfully so, especially when she laughed – but there was a wealth of hard-won experience in her eyes that she never mentioned the cause of. It was, I noticed as her friends and age-mates showed bit by bit, something that she clearly wasn't the only one to have. One Minagi Mikoto was similar; almost obnoxiously hyperactive and happy, but with a certain something in her eyes that still made her seem years older than she was. Kuga Natsuki had the same, subtle markings of hard times, but was gruffer; even rude, though clearly a treasured friend and one who took that seriously, since she had spent a lot of her own time helping to get the business prepared, according to Mai.

"So what's your deal?" Kuga asked me one afternoon when both she and I were lugging boxes into the storeroom, while Mai fretted over menu designs and Mikoto set up tables and chairs alongside Mai's bother Takumi and Okuzaki Akira.

"My deal?" I set the box I was carrying down on top of another, and looked at her. She was close to my own height, and again, there was that sense of her coloring not being quite right. Her hair was too dark, her skin too pale, and her eyes too natural of a green. "What do you mean?"

"Something..." She frowned in a way that was almost a scowl, and seemed to find a familiar echo as she studied my eyes. "What happened to you?"

"I don't know," I told her honestly, and wiped my sweaty forehead. "But there's 'something' about you, too. All of you."

Kuga grunted, and though we never spoke of it again and she was the furthest from Mai that a human could be, she became my second friend.

xXxXx

As it turned out, it took a bare month after its official opening before the Princess Bride was the most popular cafe in town. Mai extended its business hours in both directions, and had to hire extra cooks and waitstaff well ahead of schedule. By the time fall came around, I was working for her myself. I didn't need the money in any way, but I felt a tie to the place, and enjoyed spending time with both Mai and those of her peers who could often be found there. Mikoto jumping onto my back – which happened at the darnedest times – was also disturbingly familiar, and I had the gut feeling that there were answers to be found here; if not in the people, then in the surroundings. Every day, there was that hint of _right there_, and if I just had a little more patience...

Besides, it was incredibly entertaining when Natsuki stopped by with her by now ever-present companion Fujino Shizuru, who turned out to be my year-mate – albeit not classmate – in university. Lord, that woman could make her blush. Fujino-san, too, had that air about her of knowing much and saying little, and again, something was just out of my reach. But bit by bit, the focus of that something was centering into what I could now identify as a person from my past, an important one, even if I couldn't say who that person was. They – I had the feeling it was a 'she', but didn't know – were at the essence of all those almost-memories; the scent of roses, the word 'bride', the ringing of bells, the swinging of swords and mentions of princes, the purples, the reds, the whites and the greens.

I was getting closer, and it was an exhilarating, almost physical feeling of progress that made life so much easier, because every reminder of what I couldn't remember was a tiny step in the right direction.

"Oi, Utena." Natsuki breezed in despite the visible 'Closed' sign, and leaned against the counter after dropping an envelope in front of me. "Your buddy's in the paper again. Might wanna stay out of the northeast district for a while."

My buddy the Prince, and Natsuki only knew because she'd came upon one of my own interferences one night several months ago. She'd been angry at first to say the least, because there was only one secret their group was allowed to keep, and the same went for me since I was now part of it. The fact that I didn't know my own secret was good enough for her, but she expected honesty in everything else.

She'd gotten over it, though, and had proven to be a surprisingly good ally after that; keeping an eye on things through connections she'd formed through the secret she never mentioned herself. Now, she both helped me when I was stuck on something, and warned me if there was a chance of me being caught in the act – so to speak – by someone with a camera or a press tag.

"Thanks," I told her, and nodded a little as I settled the envelope into my pocket. "Tell your uncle thanks, too."

Natsuki allowed herself an amused smirk, and lifted a hand in a half-wave as she wandered off again.

xXxXx

I didn't work at the Princess Bride every day. As I mentioned, I didn't actually need the money due to scholarships and inheritances, and I also had other things on my plate, such as school and the occasional (nightly) wandering around town. Still, I was there on a daily basis, if only as a customer. I liked the place, enjoyed its atmosphere and the fact that more often than not, there was a friendly, familiar face there who had the time to just talk about nothing at all. By the time my second year in university was coming to an end, I had everything but a 'Reserved' sign in the furthest corner booth, because Mai only ever had anyone seated there if there was absolutely no other space open. In effect, it became the table for friends and family, which was a very blurred line more often than not.

I liked that. For the first time since I could remember, something felt a little like home.

I sipped my tea, and turned a page of the paper in front of me while responding to a call from across the room with an exaggerated grimace, which in turn caused a laugh. I fit in here, and I loved it. There was another article about the Prince in the paper today, and I amused myself with finding the irregularities between the writing and my own memory while my criminology books waited off to the side.

It was noisy in the cafe today, but that was to be expected. The weather was gorgeous, and the work day was over; a sure recipe for a busy, bustling space filled with chatter and laughter and the scent of well-cooked food.

"Utena!" Man, Mikoto was light on her feet. Her voice was right next to my ear, and I almost snorted my tea in shock. "Mai says you have to share – no more room."

"Sure, sure." I gave the table a cursory glance, and decided it was clear enough without me moving anything. "Sit down, please." I waved a hand at the seats opposite my own, but didn't lift my eyes from the paper, because what were these people _on_? Blue hair? Really?

Of course, I heard Mikoto walk _away_ without issue, and shook my head in mild self-exasperation.

"Rose tea?" a voice asked from the other side of the booth.

"Mmhm." I nodded, and sent my tablemate a brief glance. "Tried it?"

Then time stopped. Or at least, it felt like it did when I jerked my head up in a motion sudden enough to make my neck protest. _Right there_ was... well, _right there._ The right tone of dark skin, the right shade of royal purple that fell in soft, large curls around her shoulders, the right shade of eyes so green it bordered on unnatural, and a faint, almost hesitant smile that I knew I'd seen a thousand times.

"I know you," I told her hoarsely, and watched those eyes tear up as she looked at me, and nodded.

"Yes, Utena-sama," she admitted, and hid a tremulous smile behind one hand. "You do."

Conscious thought was not an option, only instinct, and I leveled a look at her before rolling my eyes. "How many times have I asked you to not call me that, Himemiya?"

And just like that, the lock clicked open. The world around me faded into a thousand buried sights and sounds and smells; a deafening rush of repressed memories that blocked out everything else and had me clutching at my head and gritting my teeth in equal parts pain and panic. It was too much – far, far too much – to relive years in a matter of moments, and I was only vaguely aware of the thundering beat of my own heart over the sound of known voices rising in anxiety and achingly familiar hands on my shoulders.

"Anthy." When I could open my eyes again, she was right next to me with a firm grip on my arms and tears trailing down her cheeks, and I was drowning in those eyes although I knew my friends were watching. "Thank God." Somewhere, I registered Mai's voice ordering people away, and knew I'd owe them an explanation of some kind.

"Where were you?" I asked her, when the crowd had parted and we were left in as much privacy as we could hope for in a crowded cafe.

"Looking for you," she laugh-sobbed, and cupped my face in her hands. "My Prince."

I sank into her warmth and scent, and felt the pounding of her heart under my ear while her arms wrapped around me. Exhausted, but home.

Finally.


End file.
